


Dragon Age 2019 Prompts

by SerenityFalconNormandy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Sit In Judgment, Duchess in a Box Tour, F/M, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Mages (Dragon Age), Showdown (Dragon Age), The Amell Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenityFalconNormandy/pseuds/SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: A collection of Dragon Age prompts written throughout 2019, not necessarily related to the Reddit prompts.





	1. Duchess in a Box Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “What’s with the box?”
> 
>  By far the weirdest judgement that Fen'lath ever participates in.

Fen’lath sighed as Josephine laid out the itinerary for the day out on the war table.

 

“A judgement? You know I hate dressing up for those, Josephine. Is it really something that I have to do?”

 

The Antivan ambassador shifted, eyes darting around and looking anywhere but directly at Fen. “It is, Inquisitor. This one cannot be delegated or reassigned. Unfortunately.”

 

Fen groaned. It seemed that on any given day, _everyone_ wanted the Inquisitor to sit in judgement over some matter or another, no matter how petty. Thankfully, Josephine had managed to cut through most of the _shemlen_ bullshit, but she couldn’t escape all of it.

 

“All right. Can we just bump this up to be first thing so it’s over and done with?”

 

“Certainly, Inquisitor.” Fen eyed her ambassador after the hesitant response. It wasn’t like Josie to be timid.

 

Turning from the table, she caught Leliana covering a small grin. Oh dear. Leliana smiling like that rarely, if ever, meant something good. She trudged up to her room and changed from her normal Skyhold leathers into the black and silver getup that Josephine insisted on for judgements. Before leaving the room, Fen just leaned her head against her door and heaved out a sigh. She was so _tired._ Even as they waited to find more information on what Corypheus’s next move would be, she wasn’t allowed to rest or relax.

 

Pulling her shoulders back, Fen straightened and marched down the stairs to meet Josephine. As soon as they met at the bottom landing, the ambassador began her normal fussing routine; patting, tucking things in, straightening hems. “This will be unusual, Inquisitor, but please, _please_ , take it as seriously as possible.”

 

“You’re not bringing me another Avvar clansman that’s been throwing goats at the keep, are you?”

 

Josephine fluttered around her, “Oh, I wish it were that simple! Just remember, _serious_ , please.”

 

The door opened, and Fen glided to her throne and sat gracefully. Spotting the guards at the back of the great hall, she waved Josephine over.

 

“What’s with the box?” She asked, leaning in.

 

“Just--let me do my introduction, please?”

 

Fen gave her a side-eye and sat back. Josephine took her place, then cleared her throat, messing with her paperwork and speaking as the soldiers dragged the large wooden crate forward.

 

“First, this _wasn’t_ my idea. It is an issue born of titles and heir apparency and…” She cut off in a sigh, “Halamshiral is having difficulty freeing trade routes formerly controlled by Duchess Florianne.”

 

It took all the self control Fen possessed not to slap her hand to her forehead and groan. Of course Orlesians would be absolutely helpless and complicate what should be a straightforward ‘she died a traitor, her possessions are forfeit’ into this… this farce. Immediately outside the door to Josephine’s office, she could see Leliana leaning against the frame, hand over her mouth again, and shoulders shaking. At least someone else appreciated the absurdity of this. Or perhaps, the spymaster was gagging.  It was hard to tell from this distance...

 

Josephine continued, “Had she been tried, her assets would be forfeit and considerable bureaucracy avoided. So they ask that we judge her.”

 

The look on her Antivan advisor’s face pleaded with her to understand, and for a measure of forgiveness for the ridiculousness of Orlais. Looking out over the crowd observing, Fen saw the cluster of Orlesian nobles watching eagerly. _Blighted vultures, waiting to claim whatever they could from Florianne without learning a bloody thing._

 

“I have to judge her remains?” Fen turned her attention back to Josephine. “ _This_ is supposed to make sense? I’m judging a box?”

 

Josephine’s shoulders slumped, resigned to the fact that Fen wasn’t going to just play along. Flies buzzed around the crate, and both women quietly brought kerchiefs to their faces as the ripe scent of decay reached them.

 

After a few moments of silence, Josephine straightened and sighed again. “That was the time allotted for rebuttal. Her crimes negated any claim to--” She stopped, making a small retching noise into her kerchief, “Forgive me, there is an odor.”

 

The soldiers flanking the crate were going green, one of them visibly gagging every few seconds, then choking back whatever was attempting to come up. Fen waved, indicating they could step back. It wasn’t like the box could run away. Their relief was palpable.

 

As Josephine coughed into her kerchief again, Fen laughed, “Community service!”

 

The Orlesians at the front all recoiled at the unexpected pronouncement. An impish, evil grin spread across Fen’s face. “I call for rehabilitation! The skull shall do public theater about the evils of evil!” Leaning forward and placing her hands on her knees, she said sweetly, “I also judge the box. End table for orphans.”

 

Flustered, Josephine flapped her kerchief at Fen before looking desperately at the clucking cluster of perturbed nobles. “That’s quite enough, Inquisitor. Point taken.”

 

* * *

 

Reading the note, Fen looked up at Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine. “Well, it looks like my ‘community service’ idea didn’t work to get the point across. Suggestions?”

 

Leliana steepled her fingers. “Arrange visitation. Not with you--with the Duchess. I dare say that waking to find a boxed traitor on their end tables will set each straight.”

 

Josephine put a hand to her temple, and said in a despairing voice, “Leliana, _no_.” She turned to Fen, “You've seen how they are slaves to bureaucracy. Demand they attend the duchess's reception, as is usual for this time of year. I can see it now: the fashion is pine.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Cullen said dryly, “Since we are being barbaric, why not set her head on a pike?”

 

The three women looked at each other, brows raised, and wicked smiles slowly widening across their faces. Horrified, he began waving his hands in desperation, “That was a joke──do not ask for her head on a pike!”

 

Seeing the three of them turn on him with those evil grins, he sighed, “You want her head on a pike. _Fine_. Maker."

 

* * *

 

Jaw stiff, Cullen stepped up next to Fen at the war table. As they looked over the paperwork Josephine had set out for the day, he ground out, “Well, I cannot say I'm pleased, Inquisitor. Thanks to you, I now have a soldier whose sole job is to shake the duchess's head at social ne'er-do-wells.”

 

He slapped one of the papers down on the table. “Was this truly necessary? I could have had a cherry of a ‘don't’ sign delivered from Kirkwall in a matter of days. Or made here. I believe that Varric commands the rights. Regardless, I am not sure the problem was solved. Truth be told, now I forget what it was. So, job done.”

 

He slammed the rest of his stack on the table with a growl.

 

Not looking up from the papers she was sorting, Fen said in a syrupy sweet tone, “Thank you, Cullen. Just remember in the future, don’t make suggestions you don’t want me to take seriously.”

 

Cullen glowered, “Serious is the last word I would use to describe this farce, Inquisitor.”


	2. No Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’m not going to apologise for this. Not anymore.”
> 
> Meredith threw Leandra's death in Hawke's face and called it her fault. It most certainly is not, and Marian deals with the emotional blowback.

Marian just managed to restrain herself from kicking open the door of the estate. That absolute fucking  _ bitch! _ How dare Meredith drag out Leandra’s death in public, claiming it was  _ her  _ failure! Slamming the door so hard it rattled in the frame was satisfying, but didn’t cool her rage a single jot. She could feel fire licking up her hands and arms, and demons pressing against the Veil, eager and slavering for freedom. Dropping to her knees, Marian pressed her flaming hands to her temples and sucked in deep breaths, chest heaving as she tried to reign in her temper. 

 

Emeric, a single templar, had suspected that a serial killer was involved, and had been laughed off by his fellows. Meredith had ordered him to halt his investigation, had written to fucking Gascard to apologize! Gascard didn’t fit Meredith’s view of what a blood mage could possibly be, likely because he was _noble_ and _handsome_ , so she dismissed him right offhand. How  _ dare _ she claim Leandra’s death was Marian’s fault! She knew her thoughts were racing in circles, and that she was just making herself angrier. 

 

Leaning forward, she placed her forehead on the cold tiles of the foyer, wrapping her arms around her middle and finally letting go. She screamed against the floor, and allowed the tears to splatter.

 

She heart the patter of Orana’s slippers, then felt a small, cool hand on the back of her neck, “Oh, Miss.”

 

“Get back,” Marian sobbed. The flames didn’t hurt her or torch her clothing, but they were dangerous to Orana. “The fire-”

 

“I grew up in a magister’s house in Tevinter, Miss.” Her voice was quiet. “You are far more careful with your magic than any other mage I have ever seen. I know you won’t hurt me.”

 

Sitting up and brushing her hair away from where it was stuck to her wet cheeks, Marian sniffled. “You know, barring Merrill and Anders, I think you’re the only person I know who isn’t scared of me on some level.”

 

Orana sat down next to her, picking at a loose thread on her apron. “Messere Fenris grew up in Tevinter like I did… but had far worse things happen to him. I think if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be scared of you. I know what Tevinter mages are like. I’ve never met a Circle mage here in the south, but you are the kindest mage I’ve ever met.” 

 

Marian laughed. “You never met my father. He was kind, and good.” Her lip trembled, “And he was a blood mage.”

 

Orana took her hand. “I’m sorry, Miss. I’m not very good with words.”

 

“I’m not either, truth be told.”

 

“If I may, what happened to get you to this state?”

 

“Knight-Commander Meredith. She’s been cracking down on the mages in the Gallows-like she wasn’t strict before!- and said that Leandra dying was my fault.”

 

Orana was quiet for a moment before whispering, “You weren’t responsible, Miss. The Knight-Commander-- if I may be honest, she reminds me of the worst of the magisters in Tevinter. Everything is justified as long as it keeps her in power.”

 

Marian sniffled, “Really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Thank you, Orana.”

 

The elven woman blushed. “I’m just speaking the truth, Miss. You’re an example for every mage you come across.”

 

Orana stood up, wringing her hands and looking at the clock in the foyer. “I need to prepare dinner, excuse me.”

 

She scurried off to the kitchen, leaving Marian alone. Standing, Marian rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on as the anger and adrenaline bled away. She staggered up the stairs, clinging to the bannister to keep herself from falling down when she inevitably tripped. Her room was quiet, dark, and welcoming after the scene with Meredith. Bodhan seemed to have drawn a bath after hearing her come in, and the bathwater looked welcoming. 

 

Marian stripped, and slid into the bath, leaning her head back and letting herself drift while the water cooled. At one point, she fluttered her fingers, and the water started steaming again. The tiny spark of anger flickered. Something so small as this would get any other mage thrown in the Gallows. Maker, simply being as angry as she had been when she’d arrived home would be considered grounds for Tranquility under Meredith. 

 

Splashing out of the tub and pulling the plug, she strode over to her armoire. Marian threw open the doors a bit harder than she had meant to, and pulled out her father’s staff. After this, she wasn’t going to cater or kowtow to Meredith. The armor she’d been gifted as Champion was in a heap at the bottom of the armoire, never worn. Tossing aside the nondescript armor she had favored before after removing it from her armor stand, and moving her old halberd from the weapon rack, she placed the Champion armor and her father’s staff in their places.

 

She had bowed to Meredith and the Circle for too long. Even though she knew Fenris would ring a peal over her head for opening herself up to Grand Cleric Elthina revoking the writ that publicly allowed her to live free from the Circle, she wasn’t going to hide what she was anymore.

 

Moving over to her vanity, looking in the mirror, Marian lit her hands, watching the flames dance over her skin and feeling the heat caress her fingers. She met her reflection’s eyes, their green piercing with the reflected flames. 

 

“I am a mage. I’m not going to apologize for this. Not anymore.”


	3. A Mother's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mindless
> 
> Since Leandra's death, Dulci de Launcet has taken it upon herself to mother Marian.

Marian kept the smile plastered on her face while listening to Fifi and Babette chatter on about Lady So-and-So’s dalliances with Messer Somethingorother. After Leandra died, Dulci had taken it upon herself to mother Marian. While the de Launcet women were full of mindless chatter, they had good hearts. She couldn’t turn down invitations for supper and dinner at their estate anymore, and she found herself issuing invitations for them to come to the Amell estate at least twice a week.

 

They didn’t expect her to squish herself into stays or a corset, nor did they demand the overblown Orlesian dresses that Leandra would have expected. As long as she was clothed, her hair brushed, and she had at least house slippers on, they were as delighted as they would be to meet Empress Celene. 

 

Supper was eaten, and they were withdrawing to the sitting room to allow Bodhan and Orana to clear the table. Dulci was quiet, blue eyes focused on Marian. Marian gave her a smile that was more grimace, and she called ahead to her daughters, “Fifi, Babette, would you run home to fetch my wrap? I seem to have forgotten it.”

 

“Yes, Mama!” The girls spoke in unison and turned to the front of the estate. 

 

Raising an eyebrow, Marian glanced down at Dulci’s elbows, and the wrap draped over them. “I know, Marian. I wanted an opportunity to speak to you alone. Are you all right?”

 

“It’s complicated, Lady Dulci.”

 

“Well, we have some time before Fifi and Babette come back, or send a runner to let me know they can’t find my wrap. Perhaps you can explain?”

 

“I-all right.” Marian sighed and sank down into one of the chairs.

 

“Does it have anything to do with that elf? The one with the odd tattoos?”

 

“Not really, it’s mostly Knight-Commander Meredith.”

 

“Ugh, that woman,” Dulci sniffed as she sat across from Marian. “She has refused to let Emile have any of the letters I write him anymore. She claims that such indulgence only encourages him to worse behavior.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Lady Dulci. I thought sending him back to the Circle made the most sense, but…” Marian trailed off. 

 

Just another mistake she’d made, sending Emile de Launcet back to the Kirkwall Circle.  Maybe she should have arranged for him to go to Kinloch or Jainen? Solona would have helped, she knew it. A headache was beginning to bloom behind her eyes, the weight of everything on her shoulders already adding to the suffocating amount of responsibilities set on her.

 

“Oh, my dear child, it’s not your fault. It’s that horrible woman.” There were calculating eyes behind Dulci’s usual polite, if kind, mask. “I think your mother was too hard on you.”

 

“I-”

 

“I knew her growing up. Leandra was certain her way was the only way, and she would always have her way once she set her mind to it. Aristade, your grandfather, spoiled her horribly, and your grandmother doted on her. They ignored your uncle and were far too critical of him. Gamlen is not my favorite person, but the way Leandra talked to you reminded me of how Lady Bethann would speak to him. It was wrong, and you both deserved better from your mothers.”

 

Marian felt her mouth hanging open in shock. She closed it, gently.

 

“You are an amazing young woman, Marian Hawke.”

 

“I-don’t know what to say?”

 

“You don’t need to say anything.” Dulci stood. “I think you could use the rest of the day alone, hmm? Don’t hesitate to call on me if you need anything, my dear.” She paused next to a thunderstruck Marian, and dropped a kiss on her head. 

 

“Thank you, Lady Dulci.”

 

“Naturally, Marian. No, don’t get up, I’ll have Bodhan let me out.”

 

Staring into the fire, pondering over what Dulci had revealed about her mother, Marian lost track of time. She was going to spend more time with the de Launcets, she decided. A little inane, mindless chatter was worth spending time with a mother who loved her. 


End file.
